,€...!_^ 


RDBEKT 

LOUIS 

STEVENSON 


CHESTERTON 


I 


^m. 


rimk 


^■^ 


The  Characteristics  of 

Robert   Louis   Stevenson 


1^1  'HI    K  I"     1. til' IS    >  I   I    \   I    NS«  »N 


Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

BY 

G.  K.   Chesterton 

and 

W.   Robertson  NicoU 


^ 


NEW    YORK 

JAMES    POTT   &   COMPANY 

1906 


First  Impression  April,  1906 
Second  Impression  March,  1908 


I  •  «    e 


Cs 


The  Characteristics  of 

Robert  Louis   Stevenson 

^LL  things  and  all  men  are  underrated, 
J.  X  much  by  others,  especially  by  them- 
selves; and  men  grow  tired  of  men  just  as 
they  do  of  green  grass,  so  that  they  have  to 
seek  for  green  carnations.  All  great  men 
possess  in  themselves  the  qualities  which  will 
certainly  lay  them  open  to  censure  and 
diminishment ;  but  these  inevitable  deficien- 
cies in  the  greatness  of  great  men  vary  in  the 
widest  degree  of  variety.  Stevenson  is  open 
to  a  particularly  subtle,  a  particularly  effect- 
ive and  a  particularly  unjust  disparagement. 
The  advantage  of  great  men  like  Blake  or 
Browning  or  Walt  Whitman  is  that  they  did 

[5] 


257398 


"<:i  The  Characteristics  of 

not  observe  the  niceties  of  technical  litera- 
ture. The  far  greater  disadvantage  of 
Stevenson  is  that  he  did.  Because  he  had  a 
conscience  about  small  matters  in  art,  he  is 
conceived  not  to  have  had  an  imagination 
about  big  ones.  It  is  assumed  by  some  that 
he  must  have  been  a  bad  architect,  and  the 
only  reason  that  they  can  assign  is  that  he 
was  a  good  workman.  The  mistake  which 
has  given  rise  to  this  conception  is  one  that 
has  much  to  answer  for  in  numerous  depart- 
ments of  modern  art,  literature,  religion, 
philosophy,  and  politics.  The  supreme  and 
splendid  characteristic  of  Stevenson  was  his 
levity;  and  his  levity  was  the  flower  of  a 
hundred  grave  philosophies.  The  strong 
man  is  always  hght:  the  weak  man  is  always 
heavy.  A  swift  and  casual  agility  is  the 
mark  of  bodily  strength:  a  humane  levity  is 
the  mark  of  spiritual  strength.  A  thor- 
oughly strong  man  swinging  a  sledge-hammer 
can  tap  the  top  of  an  eggshell.     A  weaker 

[6] 


Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

man  swinging  a  sledge-hammer  will  break  the 
table  on  which  it  stands  into  pieces.  Also,  if 
he  is  a  very  weak  man,  he  will  be  proud  of 
having  broken  the  table,  and  call  himself  a 
strong  man  dowered  with  the  destructive 
power  of  an  Imperial  race. 

This  is,  superficially  speaking,  the  peculiar 
interest  of  Stevenson.  He  had  what  may  be 
called  a  perfect  mental  athleticism,  which  en- 
abled him  to  leap  from  crag  to  crag,  and  to 
trust  himself  anywhere  and  upon  any  ques- 
tion. His  splendid  quality  as  an  essayist  and 
controversialist  was  that  he  could  always  re- 
cover his  weapon.  He  was  not  like  the  aver- 
age  swashbuckler  of  the  current  parties, 
tugged  at  the  tail  of  his  own  sword.  This  is 
what  tends,  for  example,  to  make  him  stand 
out  so  well  beside  his  unhappy  friend  Mr. 
Henley,  whose  true  and  unquestionable  affec- 
tion has  lately  taken  so  bitter  and  feminine 
a  form.  Mr.  Henley,  an  admirable  poet  and 
critic,  is,  nevertheless,  the  man  par  excellence 

[7] 


The  Characteristics  of 

who  breaks  the  table  instead  of  tapping  the 
egg.  In  his  recent  article  on  Stevenson  he 
entirely  misses  this  peculiar  and  supreme 
point  about  his  subject. 

He  there  indulged  in  a  very  emotional  re- 
monstrance against  the  reverence  almost  uni- 
versally paid  to  the  physical  misfortunes  of 
his  celebrated  friend.  "If  Stevenson  was  a 
stricken  man,"  he  said,  "are  we  not  all 
stricken  men?"  And  he  proceeded  to  call 
up  the  images  of  the  poor  and  sick,  and  of 
their  stoicism  under  their  misfortunes.  If 
sentimentalism  be  definable  as  the  permitting 
of  an  emotional  movement  to  cloud  a  clear 
intellectual  distinction,  this  most  assuredly 
is  sentimentalism,  for  it  would  be  impossible 
more  completely  to  misunderstand  the  real 
nature  of  the  cult  of  the  courage  of  Steven- 
son. The  reason  that  Stevenson  has  been 
selected  out  of  the  whole  suffering  humanity 
as  the  type  of  this  more  modern  and  occult 
martyrdom  is  a  very  simple  one.     It  is  not 

[8] 


Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

that  he  merely  contrived,  like  any  other  man 
of  reasonable  manliness,  to  support  pain  and 
limitation  without  whimpering  or  commit- 
ting suicide  or  taking  to  drink.  In  that  sense 
of  course  we  are  all  stricken  men  and  we  are 
all  stoics.  The  ground  of  Stevenson's  par- 
ticular fascination  in  this  matter  was  that  he 
was  the  exponent,  and  the  successful  expo- 
nent, not  merely  of  negative  manliness,  but 
of  a  positive  and  lyric  gaiety.  This  wounded 
soldier  did  not  merely  refrain  from  groans, 
he  gave  forth  instead  a  war  song,  so  juvenile 
and  inspiriting  that  thousands  of  men  with- 
out a  scratch  went  back  into  the  battle.  This 
cripple  did  not  merely  bear  his  own  burdens, 
but  those  of  thousands  of  contemporary 
men.  No  one  can  feel  anything  but  the  most 
inexpressible  kind  of  reverence  for  the 
patience  of  the  asthmatic  charwoman  or  the 
consumptive  tailor's  assistant.  Still  the  char- 
woman does  not  write  "Aes  Triplex,"  nor  the 
tailor  "The  Child's  Garden  of  Verses."  Their 

[9] 


r 


The  Characteristics  of 

stoicism  is  magnificent,  but  it  is  stoicism.  But 
Stevenson  did  not  face  his  troubles  as  a  stoic, 
he  faced  them  as  an  Epicurean.  He  practised 
with  an  austere  triumph  that  terrible  as- 
ceticism of  frivolity  which  is  so  much  more 
difficult  than  the  asceticism  of  gloom.  His 
resignation  can  only  be  called  an  active  and 
uproarious  resignation.  It  was  not  merely 
self-sufficing,  it  was  infectious.  His  triumph 
was,  not  that  he  went  through  his  misfortunes 
without  becoming  a  cynic  or  a  poltroon,  but 
that  he  went  through  his  misfortunes  and 
emerged  quite  exceptionally  cheerful  and  rea- 
sonable and  courteous,  quite  exceptionally 
light-hearted  and  liberal-minded.  His  tri- 
umph was,  in  other  words,  that  he  went 
through  his  misfortunes  and  did  not  become 
like  Mr.  Henley. 

There  is  one  aspect  of  this  matter  in  par- 
ticular, which  it  is  as  well  to  put  somewhat 
more  clearly  before  ourselves.  This  triumph 
of   Stevenson's   over  his   physical   disadvan- 

[10] 


Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

tages  is  commonly  spoken  of  with  reference 
only  to  the  elements  of  joy  and  faith,  and 
what  may  be  called  the  new  and  essential 
virtue  of  cosr|pc  courage.  But  as  a  matter 
of  fact  the  peculiarly  interesting  detachment 
of  Stevenson  from  his  own  body,  is  exhibited 
in  a  quite  equally  striking  way  in  its  purely 
intellectual  aspect.  Apart  from  any  moral 
qualities,  Stevenson  was  characterised  by  a 
certain  airy  wisdom,  a  certain  light  and  cool 
rationality,  which  is  very  rare  and  very  diffi- 
cult indeed  to  those  who  are  greatly  thwarted 
or  tormented  in  Hfe.  It  is  possible  to  find  an 
invahd  capable  of  the  work  of  a  strong  man, 
but  it  is  very  rare  to  find  an  invalid  capable 
of  the  idleness  of  a  strong  man.  It  is  possible 
to  find  an  invalid  who  has  the  faith  which 
removes  mountains,  but  not  easy  to  find  an 
invalid  who  has  the  faith  that  puts  up  with 
pessimists.  It  may  not  be  impossible  or  even 
unusual  for  a  man  to  He  on  his  back  on  a  sick 
bed  in  a  dark  room  and  be  an  optimist.    But  it 

[  11  ]  '  "^ 


The  Characteristics  of 

is  very  unusual  indeed  for  a  man  to  lie  on  his 
back  on  a  sick  bed  in  a  dark  room  and  be  a 
reasonable  optimist :  and  that  is  what  Steven- 
son, almost  alone  of  modern  optimists,  suc- 
ceeded in  being. 

The  faith  of  Stevenson,  like  that  of  a  great 
number  of  very  sane  men,  was  founded  on 
what  is  called  a  paradox — the  paradox  that 
existence  was  splendid  because  it  was,  to  all 
outward  appearance,  desperate.  Paradox, 
so  far  from  being  a  modern  and  fanciful 
matter,  is  inherent  in  all  the  great  hypotheses 
of  humanity.  The  Athanasian  Creed,  for  ex- 
ample, the  supreme  testimony  of  Catholic 
Christianity,  sparkles  with  paradox  like  a 
modern  society  comedy.  Thus,  in  the  same 
manner,  scientific  philosophy  tells  us  that 
finite  space  is  unthinkable  and  infinite  space  is 
unthinkable.  Thus  the  most  influential  modern 
metaphysician,  Hegel,  declares  without  hesi- 
tation, when  the  last  rag  of  theology  is  aban- 
doned,   and    the    last    point    of    philosophy 

[12] 


Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

passed,  that  existence  is  the  same  as  non- 
existence. Thus  the  briUiant  author  of 
"Ladj  Windemere's  Fan,"  in  the  electric 
glare  of  modernity,  finds  that  life  is  much  too 
important  to  be  taken  seriously.  Thus  Ter- 
tullian,  in  the  first  ages  of  faith,  said  "Credo 
quia  impossibile." 

We  must  not,  therefore,  be  immediately  re- 
pelled by  this  paradoxical  character  of  Stev- 
enson's optimism,  or  imagine  for  a  moment 
that  it  was  merely  a  part  of  that  artistic 
foppery  or  "faddling  hedonism''  with  which 
he  has  been  ridiculously  credited.  His  opti- 
mism was  one  which,  so  far  from  dwelling 
upon  those  flowers  and  sunbeams  which  form 
the  stock-in-trade  of  conventional  optimism, 
took  a  peculiar  pleasure  in  the  contempla- 
tion of  skulls,  and  cudgels,  and  gallows.  It 
is  one  thing  to  be  the  kind  of  optimist  who  can 
divert  his  mind  from  personal  suffering  by 
dreaming  of  the  face  of  an  angel,  and  quite 
another  thing  to  be  the  kind  of  optimist  who 

[13] 


The  Characteristics  of 

can  divert  it  by  dreaming  of  the  foul  fat  face 
of  Long  John  Silver.     And  this  faith  of  his 
had  a  very  definite  and  a  very  original  philo- 
sophical purport.     Other  men  have  justified 
existence  because  it  was  a  harmony.  He  justi- 
fied it  because  it  was  a  battle,  because  it  was 
an  inspiring  and  melodious  discord.     He  ap- 
pealed to  a  certain  set  of  facts  which  He  far 
deeper  than  any  logic — the  great  paradoxes 
of  the  soul.    For  the  singular  fact  is  that  the 
spirit  of  man  is  in  reahty  depressed  by  all  the 
things  which,  logically  speaking,  should  en- 
courage it,  and  encouraged  by  all  the  things 
which,  logically  speaking,  should  depress  it. 
Nothing,  for  example,  can  be  conceived  more 
really  dispiriting  than  that  rationalistic  ex- 
planation of  pain  which   conceives   it  as   a 
thing  laid  by  Providence  upon  the  worst  peo- 
ple.   Nothing,  on  the  other  hand,  can  be  con- 
ceived as  more  exalting  and  reassuring  than 
that  great  mystical  doctrine  which  teaches 
that  pain  is  a  thing  laid  by  Providence  upon 

[U] 


Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

the  best.    We  can  accept  the  agony  of  heroes, 
while  we  revolt  against  the  agony  of  culprits. 
We  can  all  endure  to  regard  pain  when  it 
is  mysterious ;   our  deepest  nature  protests 
against  it  the  moment  that  it  is  rational.  This 
doctrine  that  the  best  man  suffers  most  is,  of 
course,  the  supreme  doctrine  of  Christianity ; 
millions  have  found  not  merely  an  elevating 
but  a  soothing  story  in  the  undeserved  suf- 
ferings of  Christ;  had  the  sufferings  been 
deserved  we  should  all  have  been  pessimists. 
Stevenson's   great  ethical  and  philosoph- 
ical value  Hes  in  the  fact  that' he  realised  this 
great  paradox  that  life  becomes  more  fasci- 
nating the  darker  it  grows,  that  Hfe  is  worth 
living  only  so  far  as  it  is  difficult  to  live.    The 
more  steadfastly  and  gloomily  men  clung  to 
their  sinister  visions  of  duty,  the  more,  in  his 
eyes,  they  swelled  the  chorus  of  the  praise  of 
things.     He  was  an  optimist  because  to  him 
everything   was   heroic,    and   nothing   more 
heroic  than  the  pessimist.    To  Stevenson,  the 

[15] 


The  Characteristics  of 

optimist,  belong  the  most  frightful  epigrams 
of  pessimism.  It  was  he  who  said  that  this 
planet  on  which  we  live  was  more  drenched 
with  blood,  animal  and  vegetable,  than  a 
pirate  ship.  It  was  he  who  said  that  man  was 
a  disease  of  the  agglutinated  dust.  And  his 
supreme  position  and  his  supreme  difference 
from  all  common  optimists  is  merely  this, 
that  all  common  optimists  say  that  life  is 
glorious  in  spite  of  these  things,  but  he  said 
that  all  life  was  glorious  because  of  them. 
He  discovered  that  a  battle  is  more  comfort- 
ing than  a  truce.  He  discovered  the  same 
great  fact  which  was  discovered  by  a  man  so 
fantastically  different  from  him  that  the  mere 
name  of  him  may  raise  a  legitimate  laugh — 
General  Booth. 

He  discovered,  that  is  to  say,  that  religious 
evolution  might  tend  at  last  to  the  discovery, 
that  the  peace  given  in  the  churches  was  less 
attractive  to  the  religious  spirit  than  the  war 
promised    outside;    that    for    one   man   who 

[16] 


Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

wanted  to  be  comforted  a  hundred  wanted  to 
be  stirred ;  that  men,  even  ordinary  men, 
wanted  in  the  last  resort,  not  Hf e  or  death,  but 
drums. 

It  may  reasonably  be  said  that  of  all  out- 
rageous comparisons  one  of  the  most  curious 
must  be  this  between  the  old  evangelical 
despot  and  enthusiast  and  the  elegant  and 
almost  hedonistic  man  of  letters.  But  these 
far-fetched  comparisons  are  infinitely  the 
sanest,  for  they  remind  us  of  the  sanest  of  all 
conceptions,  the  unity  of  things.  A  splendid 
and  pathetic  prince  of  India,  living  in  far-oif 
sons,  came  to  many  of  the  same  conceptions 
as  a  rather  dingy  German  professor  in  the 
nineteenth  century ;  for  there  are  many  essen- 
tial resemblances  between  Buddha  and  Scho- 
penhauer. And  if  any  one  should  urge  that 
lapse  of  time  might  produce  mere  imitation, 
it  is  easy  to  point  out  that  the  same  great 
theory  of  evolution  was  pronounced  simul- 
taneously by  Darwin,  who  became  so  grim  a 

[17] 


The  Characteristics  of 

rationalist  that  he  ceased  even  to  care  for  the 
arts,  and  by  Wallace,  who  has  become  so 
fiery  a  spiritualist  that  he  yearns  after  astrol- 
ogy and  table-rapping.  Men  of  the  most 
widely  divergent  types  are  connected  by  these 
invisible  cords  across  the  world,  and  Steven- 
son was  essentially  a  Colonel  in  the  Salvation 
Army.  He  believed,  that  is  to  say,  in  making 
religion  a  military  affair.  His  militarism,  of 
course,  needs  to  be  carefully  understood.  It 
was  considered  entirely  from  the  point  of  -view 
of  the  person  fighting.  It  had  none  of  that 
evil  pleasure  in  contemplating  the  killed  and 
wounded,  in  realising  the  agonies  of  the  van- 
quished, which  has  been  turned  by  some  mod- 
ern writers  into  an  art,  a  hterary  sin,  which, 
though  only  painted  in  black  ink  on  white 
paper,  is  far  worse  than  the  mere  sin  of  mur- 
der. Stevenson's  militarism  was  as  free  from 
all  the  mere  poetry  of  conquest  and  dominion 
as  the  miHtarism  of  an  actual  common  soldier. 
It  was  mainly,  that  is  to  say,  a  poetry  of 

[18] 


Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

watches  and  parades  and  camp-fires.  He 
knew  he  was  in  the  hosts  of  the  Lord :  he  did 
not  trouble  much  about  the  enemy.  Here  is 
his  resemblance  to  that  Church  Militant, 
which,  secure  only  in  its  own  rectitude,  wages 
war  upon  the  nameless  thing  which  has  tor- 
mented and  bewildered  us  from  the  beginning 
of  the  world. 

Of  course,  this  Stevensonian  view  of  war 
suggests  in  itself  that  other  question,  touch- 
ing which  so  much  has  been  written  about 
him,  the  subject  of  childishness  and  the  child. 
It  is  true,  of  course,  that  the  splendidly  in- 
fantile character  of  Stevenson's  mind  saved 
him  from  any  evil  arising  from  his  militarism. 
A  child  can  hit  his  nurse  hard  with  a  wooden 
sword  without  being  an  aesthete  of  violence. 
He  may  enjoy  a  hard  whack,  but  he  need  not 
enjoy  the  colour  harmonies  of  black  and  blue 
as  they  are  presented  in  a  bruise.  It  is  un- 
'doubtedly  the  truth,  of  course,  that  Steven- 
son's interest  in  this  fighting  side  of  human 

[19] 


TJie  Characteristics  of 

nature  was  mainly  childish,  that  is  to  say, 
mainly  subjective.  He  thought  of  the  whole 
matter  in  the  primary  colours  of  poetic  sim- 
plicity. He  said  with  splendid  gusto  in  one 
of  his  finest  letters:  "Shall  we  never  taste 
blood?"  But  he  did  not  really  want  blood. 
He  wanted  crimson-lake. 

But  of  course,  in  the  case  of  so  hght  and 
elusive  a  figure  as  Stevenson,  even  the  terms 
which  have  been  most  definitely  attached  to 
him  tend  to  become  misleading  and  inade- 
quate, and  the  terms  "childlike"  or  "childish," 
true  as  they  are  down  to  a  very  fundamental 
truth,  are  yet  the  origin  of  a  certain  con- 
fusion. One  of  the  greatest  errors  in  existing 
literary  philosophy  is  that  of  confusing  the 
child  with  the  boy.  Many  great  moral  teach- 
ers, beginning  with  Jesus  Christ,  have  per- 
ceived the  profound  philosophical  importance 
of  the  child.  The  child  sees  everything 
freshly  and  fully ;  as  we  advance  in  life  it  is 
true  that  we  see  things  in  some  degree  less  and 

[20] 


Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

less,  that  we  are  afflicted,  spiritually  and 
morally,  with  the  myopia  of  the  student.  But 
the  problem  of  the  boy  is  essentially  different 
from  that  of  the  child.  The  boy  represents 
^the  earliest  gro^\^:h  of  the  earthly,  unman- 
ageable qualities,  poetic  still,  but  not  so  sim- 
ple or  so  universal.  The  child  enjoys  the 
plain  picture  of  the  world :  the  boy  wants  the 
secret,  the  end  of  the  story.  The  child  wishes 
to  dance  in  the  sun ;  but  the  boy  wishes  to  sail 
after  buried  treasure.  The  child  enjoys  a 
flower,  and  the  boy  a  mechanical  engine.  And 
the  finest  and  most  peculiar  work  of  Steven- 
son is  rather  that  he  was  the  first  writer  to 
treat  seriously  and  poetically  the  assthetic  in- 
stincts of  the  boy.  He  celebrated  the  toy  gun 
rather  than  the  rattle.  Around  the  child  and 
his  rattle  there  has  gathered  a  splendid  serv- 
ice of  hterature  and  art ;  Hans  Andersen  and 
Charles  Kingsley  and  George  Macdonald  and 
Walter  Crane  and  Kate  Greenaway  and  a  list 
of  celebrities  a  mile  long  bring  their  splendid 

[21] 


Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

gifts  to  the  christening.  But  the  tragedy  of 
the  helpless  infant  (if  it  be  a  male  infant — 
girls  are  quite  a  different  matter)  is  simply 
this,  that,  having  been  fed  on  Hterature  and 
art,  as  fine  in  its  way  as  Shelley  and  Turne^ 
up  to  the  age  of  seven,  he  feels  within  him 
new  impulses  and  interests  growing,  a  hun- 
ger for  action  and  knowledge,  for  fighting 
and  discovery,  for  the  witchery  of  facts  and 
the  wild  poetry  of  geography.  And  then  he 
is  suddenly  dropped  with  a  crash  out  of  liter- 
ature, and  can  read  nothing  but  "Jack 
Valiant  among  the  Indians."  For  in  the 
whole  scene  there  is  only  one  book  which  is  at 
once  literature,  like  Hans  Andersen,  and  yet 
a  book  for  boys  and  not  for  children,  and 
its  name  is  "Treasure  Island." 

G.  K.  Chesteeton. 


[22] 


The  Personality  and  Style  of 

Robert   Louis   Stevenson 

As  the  years  pass  they  disengage  the 
virtue  of  a  writer,  and  decide  whether 
or  not  he  has  force  enough  to  live.  Will 
Stevenson  live?  Undoubtedly.  He  is  far 
more  secure  of  immortality  than  many  very 
popular  writers.  The  sale  of  his  books  may 
not  be  great,  and  he  may  even  disappear  from 
the  marts  of  literature  now  and  then,  but  he 
will  always  be  revived,  and  it  may  turn  out 
that  his  reputation  may  wear  as  well  as  that 
of  Charles  Lamb.  For  he  engages  his  readers 
by  the  double  gift  of  personality  and  style. 

The  personality  of  Stevenson  is  strangely 
arresting.  In  the  first  place  it  was  a  double 
personality.  In  his  journey  to  the  Cevennes 
he  reflects  that  every  one  of  us  travels  about 

[23] 


The  Personality  of 

with  a  donkey.  In  his  "Strange  Case  of  Dr. 
Jekyll  and  Mr.  Hyde,"  the  donkey  becomes 
a  devil.  Every  Jekyll  is  haunted  by  his  Hyde. 
Somebody  said  that  "The  Strange  Case  of 
Dr.  Jekyll  and  Mr.  Hyde"  showed  Stevenson 
as  Poe,  with  the  addition  of  -a  moral  sense. 
Critics  ma}^  differ  as  to  the  exact  literar}?- 
value  of  the  famous  little  book,  but  as  an 
expression  of  Stevenson's  deepest  thought 
about  life  it  will  retain  its  interest.  He  was 
not  content  to  dwell  in  a  world  where  the  lines 
are  drawn  clear,  where  the  sheep  are  sepa- 
rated from  the  goats.  He  would  have  a  foot 
in  both  worlds,  content  to  dwell  neither  wholly 
with  the  sheep  nor  wholly  with  the  goats.  No 
doubt  his  ruling  interest  was  in  ethical  prob- 
lems, and  he  could  be  stern  in  his  moral  judg- 
ments, as,  for  example,  in  his  discussion  of 
the  character  of  Burns.  He  was  by  nature 
and  training  religious,  "something  of  the 
Shorter  Catechist."  His  earliest  publication 
was  a  defence  of  the  Covenanters,  and  in  his 

[24] 


Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

last  days  he  established  close  friendship  with 
the  Samoan  missionaries.  Yet  he  was  by  no 
means  "orthodox,"  either  in  ethics  or  in  re- 
ligion. Much  as  he  wrote  on  conduct,  there 
were  certain  subjects,  and  these  the  most 
difficult,  on  which  he  never  spoke  out.  On 
love,  for  example,  and  all  that  goes  with  it,  it 
is  quite  certain  that  he  never  spoke  his  full 
mind — to  the  public  at  least. 

Another  very  striking  quality  in  his  per- 
sonality was  his  fortitude.  He  was  simply  the 
bravest  of  men.  Now  and  then,  as  in  his 
letter  to  George  Meredith,  he  lets  us  see  under 
what  disabling  conditions  he  fought  his 
battle.  Human  beings  in  a  world  like  this 
are  naturally  drawn  to  one  who  suffers,  and 
will  not  let  himself  be  mastered  or  corrupted 
by  suffering.  They  do  not  care  for  the  pros- 
perous, dominant,  athletic,  rich  and  long- 
lived  man.  They  may  conjecture,  indeed, 
that  behind  all  the  bravery  there  is  much 
hidden  pain,  but  if  it  is  not  revealed  to  them 

[25] 


The  Personality  of 

they  cannot  be  sure.  They  love  Charles 
Lamb  for  the  manner  in  which  he  went 
through  his  trial,  and  they  love  him  none  the 
less  because  he  was  sometimes  overborne,  be- 
cause on  occasions  he  stumbled  and  fell. 
Charlotte  Bronte  was  an  example  of  fortitude 
as  remarkable  as  Stevenson,  but  she  was  not 
brave  after  the  same  manner.  She  allowed 
the  clouds  to  thicken  over  her  life  and  make 
it  grey.  Stevenson  sometimes  found  himself 
in  the  dust,  but  he  recovered  and  rose  up  to 
speak  fresh  words  of  cheer.  He  took  thank- 
fully and  eagerly  whatever  life  had  to  offer 
him  in  the  way  of  affection,  of  kindness,  of 
admiration.  Nor  did  he  ever  in  any  trouble 
lose  his  belief  that  the  Heart  of  things  was 
kind.  In  the  face  of  all  obstacle  he  went 
steadily  on  with  his  work,  nor  did  he  ever 
allow  himself  to  fall  below  the  best  that  he 
could  do.  An  example  so  touching,  so  rare, 
so  admirable,  is  a  reinforcement  which  weary 
humanity  cannot  spare. 

[26] 


Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

With  these  quaHties,  and,  indeed,  as  their 
natural  result,  Stevenson  had  a  rare  courtesy. 
He  was,  in  the  words  of  the  old  Hebrew  song, 
"lovely  and  pleasant,"  or  rather,  as  Robert- 
son Smith  translated  it,  "lovely  and  win- 
some," in  all  his  bearings  to  men  of  all  kinds, 
so  long  as  they  did  not  fall  under  the  con- 
demnation of  his  moral  judgment.  With  a 
personahty  so  rich,  Stevenson  had  the  power 
of  communicating  himself.  He  could  reveal 
his  personality  without  egotism,  without  of- 
fence. Many  writers  of  charming  individual- 
ity cannot  show .  themselves  in  their  books. 
There  is  as  little  of  themselves  in  their  novels 
as  there  would  be  in  a  treatise  on  mathematics, 
if  they  could  write  it.  Perhaps  less.  There 
have  been  mathematicians  like  Augustus  de 
Morgan,  who  could  put  humour  and  person- 
ality into  a  book  on  geometry. 

But  Stevenson  had  not  only  a  personality, 
he  had  a  style.  His  golden  gift  of  words  can 
never  be  denied.      He  may   sometimes   have 

[27] 


The  Personality  of 

been  too  "precious,"  but  the  power  of  writ- 
ing as  he  could  write  is  so  uncommon  that 
he  must  always  stand  with  a  very  few.  We 
believe  that  Stevenson's  style  is  largely  an 
expression  of  his  courtesy.  He  wished  as  a 
matter  of  mere  politeness  and  goodwill  to  ex- 
press himself  as  well  as  he  could.  In  fact,  it 
was  this  courtesy  that  led  him  to  this  famous 
paradox  about  the  end  of  art,  his  character- 
isation of  the  artist  as  the  Son  of  Joy.  "The 
French  have  a  romantic  evasion  for  one  em- 
ployment, and  call  its  practitioners  the 
Daughters  of  Joy.  The  artist  is  of  the  same 
family ;  he  is  of  the  Sons  of  Joy,  chooses  his 
trade  to  please  himself,  gains  his  livelihood  by 
pleasing  others,  and  has  parted  with  some- 
thing of  the  sterner  dignity  of  man."  The 
theory  that  all  art  is  decoration  cannot  be 
seriously  considered.  It  was  certainly  not 
true  of  Stevenson's  art.  He  wished  to  please, 
but  he  had  other  and  higher  ends.  He  had  to 
satisfy  his  exacting  conscience,  and  he  obeyed 

[28] 


Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

its  demands  sincerely  and  righteously,  and  to 
the  utmost  of  his  power.  But  he  was  too 
good  a  man  to  be  satisfied  even  with  that, 
^lilton  put  into  all  his  work  the  most  passion- 
ate labour,  but  he  did  not  believe  that  pleas- 
ure was  the  end  of  art.  Nor  would  he  have 
been  satisfied  by  complying  with  his  con- 
science. He  had  a  message  to  deliver,  and  he 
delivered  it  in  the  most  effective  forms  at  his 
command.  Stevenson  had  his  message,  too, 
and  uttered  it  right  memorably.  If  the  mes- 
sage had  to  be  put  in  a  few  words,  they  would 
be  these:  Good  my  soul,  he  brave!  He  was 
bold  enough  to  call  Tennyson  a  Son  of  Joy, 
but  he  would  have  assented  with  all  his  soul  to 
Tennyson's  lines : 

And  here  the  singer  for  his  art 

Not  all  in  vain  may  plead ; 
The  song  that  nerves  the  nation's  heart 

Is  in  itself  a  deed. 

W.  Robertson  Nicoll. 
[29] 


Biographical  Note 

S^  ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON 

"Thin-legged,  thin  chested,  slight  unspeakably, 
Neat-footed  and  weak-fingered :  in  his  face — 
Lean,  large-boned,  curved  of  beak,  and  touched  with 

race. 
Bold-lipped,  rich-tinted,  mutable  as  the  sea, 
The  brown  eyes  radiant  with  vivacity — 
There  shines  a  brilliant  and  romantic  grace, 
A  spirit  intense  and  rare,  with  trace  on  trace 
Of  passion  and  impudence  and  energy." 

— W.  E.  Henley. 


Robert  Louis  Stevenson,  only  son  of 
Thomas  Stevenson,  Civil  Engineer,  was  born 
on  November  13,  1850,  at  No.  8  Howard 
Place,  Edinburgh.  The  house  was  one  of  a 
row  of  unpretentious  stone  buildings,  situ- 
ated just  north  of  the  water  of  Leith.  When 
Louis  reached  the  age  of  two-and-a-half,  a 
removal   was   made   to   a   more    commodious 

[30] 


Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

dwelling  in  Inverleith  Terrace ;  but  this  prov- 
ing unsuitable  to  the  child's  delicate  health, 
the  family  settled  at  No.  17  Heriot  Row, 
which  continued  to  be  their  Edinburgh  home 
for  thirty  years. 

Two  other  houses  were  closely  connected 
with  the  pleasant  memories  of  Stevenson's 
youth — Swanston  Cottage,  the  country  resi- 
dence of  his  parents,  and  Colinton  Manse,  the 
abode  of  his  maternal  grandfather.  The  sit- 
uation and  history  of  the  former  he  described 
in  "Picturesque  Notes  on  Edinburgh,"  in- 
deed, the  cottage  and  its  garden  have  been 
immortalised  by  Stevenson,  both  in  prose  and 
in  verse.  "Upon  the  main  slope  of  the  Pent- 
lands  ...  a  bouquet  of  old  trees  stands 
round  a  white  farmhouse,  and  from  a  neigh- 
bouring dell  you  can  see  smoke  rising  and 
leaves  rustling  in  the  breeze.  Straight  above, 
the  hills  climb  a  thousand  feet  into  the  air. 
The  neighbourhood,  about  the  time  of  lambs, 
is  clamorous  with  the  bleating  of  flocks ;  and 

[31] 


Biographical  Note 

you  will  be  awakened  in  the  grey  of  early 
summer  mornings  by  the  barking  of  a  dog,  or 
the  voice  of  a  shepherd  shouting  to  the  echoes. 
This,  with  the  hamlet  lying  behind  unseen,  is 
Swanston."  But  it  was  at  Colinton  that 
Stevenson  passed  the  happiest  days  of  his 
childhood.  "Out  of  my  reminiscences  of  life 
in  that  dear  place,  all  the  morbid  and  painful 
elements  have  disappeared,"  he  wrote ;  "I  can 
recall  nothing  but  sunshiny  weather.  That 
was  my  golden  age:  et  ego  in  Arcadia  vixi.'^ 
In  "Memories  and  Portraits"  he  drew  a  vivid 
picture  of  the  Manse.  "It  was  a  place  at  that 
time  like  no  other ;  the  garden  cut  into  prov- 
inces by  a  great  ledge  of  beech,  and  over- 
looked by  the  church  and  the  terrace  of  the 
churchyard,  where  the  tombstones  were  thick, 
and  after  nightfall  'spunkies'  might  be  seen 
to  dance,  at  least  by  children;  flowerpots 
lying  warm  in  sunshine ;  laurels  and  the  great 
yew  making  elsewhere  a  pleasing  horror  of 
shade;  the   smell   of   water   rising   from   all 

[32] 


Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

round,  with  an  added  tang  of  paper-mills; 
the  sound  of  water  everywhere,  and  the  sound 
of  mills — the  wheel  and  the  dam  singing  their 
alternate  strain ;  the  birds  from  every  bush 
and  from  every  corner  of  the  overhanging 
woods  pealing  out  their  notes  till  the  air 
throbbed  with  them;  and  in  the  midst  of  all 
this  the  Manse." 

It  was  in  the  same  essay  that  Stevenson 
described  his  grandfather,  the  Rev.  Lewis 
Balfour,  Minister  of  Colinton,  as  "of  singu- 
lar simplicity  of  nature;  unemotional,  and 
hating  the  display  of  what  he  felt;  standing 
contented  on  the  old  ways ;  a  lover  of  his  life 
and  innocent  habits  to  the  end."  "Now  I 
often  wonder,"  he  added  later,  "what  I  have 
inherited  from  this  old  minister.  I  must  sup- 
pose, indeed,  that  he  was  fond  of  preaching 
sermons,  and  so  am  I,  though  I  never  heard  it 
maintained  that  either  of  us  loved  to  hear 
them."  Of  his  father,  Stevenson  wrote  also  in 
"Memories  and  Portraits."     "He  was  a  man 

[33] 


Biographical  Note 

of  a  somewhat  antique  strain ;  with  a  blended 
sternness  and  softness  that  was  wholly  Scot- 
tish, and  at  first  somewhat  bewildering ;  with 
a  profound  essential  melancholy  of  disposi- 
tion, and  (what  often  accompanies  it)  the 
most  humorous  geniality  in  company ;  shrewd 
and  childish;  passionately  attached,  passion- 
ately prejudiced;  a  man  of  many  extremes, 
many  faults  of  temper,  and  no  very  stable 
foothold  for  himself  among  life's  troubles." 
On  the  other  hand,  there  is  no  descriptive 
sketch  of  Stevenson's  mother  from  his  pen — 
a  want  probably  accounted  for  by  the  fact# 
that  she  survived  him.  In  person  she  was  tall 
and  graceful;  her  vivacity  and  brightness 
were  most  attractive,  and  some  idea  of  her 
undaunted  energy  and  spirit  may  be  gath- 
ered from  Mr.  Cope  Cornford's  "Robert 
Louis  Stevenson,"  in  which  he  says  of  Mrs. 
Thomas  Stevenson,  "At  past  sixty,  after  a 
lifetime  of  conventional  Edinburgh,  this  lady 
broke  up  the  house  in  Heriot  Row,  removed 

[34] 


Eohert  Louis  Stevenson 

herself  and  her  belongings  to  Apia,  learned 
to  ride  bare-backed  and  to  go  bare-footed, 
and  took  on  the  life  at  Vailima  and  the  life 
of  Tusitala's  native  friends  with  equal  gusto 
and  intelhgence.  Stevenson  was  fond  of  call- 
ing himself  a  tramp  and  a  gipsy,  and  that  he 
could  do  so  with  justice  was  owing  to  the  fact 
that  his  mother  was  Margaret  Balfour." 

Another  important  factor  in  his  early  life 
was  the  devotion  of  his  nurse,  Alison  Cun- 
ningham, "Cummy,"  as  he  invariably  called 
her,  whose  care  during  his  ailing  childhood 
did  so  much  both  to  preserve  his  life  and  fos- 
ter his  love  of  tales  and  poetry,  and  of  whom, 
until  his  death,  he  thought  with  the  utmost 
constancy  of  affection.  "My  dear  old  nurse," 
he  wrote  to  her,  " — and  you  know  there  is 
nothing  a  man  can  say  nearer  his  heart,  ex- 
cept his  mother  or  his  wife — my  dear  old 
nurse,  God  will  make  good  to  you  all  the  good 
that  you  have  done,  and  mercifully  forgive 
you  all  the  evil." 

[35] 


Biographical  Note 

In  his  nurse's  possession  there  remains  a 
treasured  album  containing  a  series  of  photo- 
graphs of  Robert  Louis  Stevenson,  dating 
from  babyhood  onwards:  the  first,  as  an  in- 
fant on  his  mother's  knee;  the  second,  at  the 
age  of  twenty  months;  and  again,  at  four 
years  old,  with  bright,  dark  eyes,  wide  apart, 
and  stiff  curls  framing  his  face.  In  the  next, 
taken  at  the  age  of  six,  his  hair  is  cropped  to 
a  manlike  shortness.  His  hands  have  lost 
their  baby  podginess,  and  are  nervous,  long- 
fingered.  He  has  a  whip  in  his  grasp,  which 
falls  slackly  down,  as  if  toys  were  not  in  his 
line,  and  he  looks  pensively  ahead.  A  few 
years  later  he  was  photographed  with  his 
father,  on  whose  shoulder  one  hand  is  resting, 
the  other  being  tucked,  boyishly,  into  his 
pocket.  "Stevenson  calls  himself  'ugly'  in  his 
student  days,"  writes  Mr.  Baildon;  "but  I 
think  this  is  a  term  that  never  at  any  time 
fitted  him.  Certainly  to  him  as  a  boy  about 
fourteen     (with    the    creed    which    he    pro- 

[36] 


Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

pounded  to  me,  that  at  sixteen  one  was  a  man) 
it  would  not  apply.  In  body  Stevenson  was 
assuredly  badly  set  up.  His  limbs  were  long 
and  lean  and  spidery,  and  his  chest  flat,  so  as 
almost  to  suggest  some  malnutrition,  such 
sharp  angles  and  corners  did  his  joints  make 
under  his  clothes.  But  in  his  face  this  was 
belied.  His  brow  was  oval  and  full,  over  soft 
brown  eyes,  that  seemed  already  to  have 
drunk  the  sunlight  under  southern  vines. 
The  whole  face  had  a  tendency  to  an  oval 
Madonna-like  type.  But  about  the  mouth 
and  in  the  mirthful,  mocking  light  of  the 
eyes,  there  lingered  ever  a  ready  Autolycus 
roguery,  that  rather  suggested  the  sly  god 
Hermes  masquerading  as  a  mortal.  The  eyes 
were  always  genial,  however  gaily  the  lights 
danced  in  them;  but  about  the  mouth  there 
was  something  a  little  tricksy  and  mocking, 
as  of  a  spirit  that  already  peeped  behind  the 
scenes  of  life's  pageant  and  more  than 
guessed  its  unrealities."  ' 

[37] 


Biographical  Note 

Three-and-a-half  years  were  employed  by 
Stevenson  in  preparation  for  the  profession 
of  civil  engineer.  He  spent  the  winter  and 
sometimes  the  summer  sessions  at  the  Uni- 
versity of  Edinburgh.  In  1871,  however,  he 
informed  his  father  of  his  inclination  to  fol- 
low literary  pursuits.  Engineering  was  given 
up  forthwith,  and  it  was  arranged  that  he 
should  study  for  the  Scottish  Bar,  to  which 
he  was  called  in  July,  1875. 

It  was  at  this  period  that  Stevenson  came 
in  close  companionship  with  Sir  Walter 
Simpson,  "the  Bart.,"  who  was  also  studying 
law.  Sir  Walter  figured  as  "The  Cigarette" 
to  Stevenson's  "Arethusa"  in  "The  Inland 
A^oyage." 

On  his  return  with  Sir  Walter  Simpson 
from  the  Inland  Voyage,  Stevenson  became 
acquainted  with  Mrs.  Osbourne,  who  was  later 
to  become  his  wife.  The  marriage  took  place 
in  San  Francisco  in  the  spring  of  1880. 

In  the  hope  of  finding  a  climate  suited  to 
[38] 


Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

his  health,  Stevenson  went  abroad  at  the  close 
of  1882,  and  settled  for  a  time  at  Hyeres, 
where,  by  the  end  of  March,  1883,  he  was 
established  in  a  house  of  his  own — the  Chalet 
La  Solitude.  This  was  a  picturesque  cottage, 
built  in  the  Swiss  manner,  on  the  slope  of  the 
hill  just  above  the  town,  and  here,  for  some 
eight  or  nine  months,  he  enjoyed  the  happiest 
period  of  his  life.  "We  all  dwell  together  and 
make  fortunes  in  the  lovehest  house  you  ever 
saw,  with  a  garden  hke  a  fairy  story,  and  a 
view  like  a  classical  landscape,"  he  wrote. 
"Little?  Well,  it  is  not  large.  But  it  is  Eden 
and  Beulah  and  the  Delectable  Mountains 
and  Eldorado  and  the  Hesperidean  Isles  and 
Bimini." 

Year  after  year  the  struggle  against  ill- 
health  was  increasing,  and  in  1887  Steven- 
son's uncle,  Dr.  George  Balfour,  insisted  on 
a  complete  change  of  climate,  and  a  second 
voyage  to  America  was  undertaken.  In  the 
following  June  began  the  South  Sea  cruises, 

[S9] 


Biographical  Note 

which,  after  three  years  of  wandering,  culmi- 
nated in  the  period  of  settled  residence  at 
Samoa. 

While  in  the  South  Seas,  in  1889,  Steven- 
son paid  a  visit  to  Molokai,  the  leper  settle- 
ment in  the  Hawaiian  Islands,  which  resulted 
in  his  famous  "Letter  to  Dr.  Hyde,"  in  de- 
fence of  Father  Damian,  who  died  a  month 
previous  to  his  arrival.  "The  place  as  re- 
gards scenery  is  grand,  gloomy,  and  bleak," 
he  wrote,  describing  the  settlement.  "Mighty 
mountain  walls  descending  sheer  along  the 
whole  face  of  the  island  into  a  sea  unusually 
deep;  the  front  of  the  mountain,  ivied  and 
furred  with  clinging  forest,  one  viridescent 
cliff;  about  half  way,  from  east  to  west,  the 
low,  bare,  stony  promontory  edged  in  be- 
tween the  cliff  and  the  ocean ;  the  two  little 
towns  (Kalawao  and  Kalaupapa)  seated  on 
either  side  of  it,  as  bare  almost  as  bathing 
machines  upon  a  beach;  and  the  population 
gorgons  and  chimaeras  dire.' 

[40] 


5> 


Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

About  three  miles  inland,  on  the  hills  above 
Apia  (the  chief  town  of  Upolu  in  the  Samoan 
group),  the  Stevensons  made  their  home  in 
November,  1890.  The  house  itself  was 
erected  on  a  clearing  of  some  three  hundred 
acres,  between  two  streams,  from  the  western- 
most of  which  the  steep  side  of  Vaea  moun- 
tain, covered  with  forest,  rose  to  a  height  of 
thirteen  hundred  feet  above  the  sea.  From 
this  stream  and  its  four  tributaries  the  estate 
was  called  Vailima,  the  Samoan  name  for  Five 
Waters.  "This  is  a  hard  and  interesting  and 
beautiful  life  that  we  lead  now,"  he  wrote. 
"Our  place  is  in  a  deep  cleft  of  Vaea  moun- 
tain, some  six  hundred  feet  above  the  sea, 
embowered  in  forest,  which  is  our  strangling 
enemy  and  which  we  combat  with  axes  and 
dollars."  The  house  was  built  of  wood 
throughout,  painted  a  dark  green  outside, 
with  a  red  roof  of  corrugated  iron.  The 
building  was  finally  enlarged  in  compatibility 
with  the  requirements  of  the  family,  and  con- 

[41] 


Biographical  Note 

sisted,  after  December,  1892,  of  three  rooms, 
bath,  storeroom,  and  cellars  below,  with  five 
bedrooms  and  library  upstairs.  On  the 
ground  floor  a  veranda,  twelve  feet  deep,  ran 
in  front  of  the  whole  house  and  along  one 
side  of  it.  The  chief  feature  of  the  interior 
was  the  large  hall.  "My  house  is  a  great 
place,"  he  added  on  another  occasion ;  "we 
have  a  hall  fifty  feet  long,  with  a  great  red- 
wood stair  ascending  from  it,  where  we  dine  in 
state."  The  two  posts  of  the  big  staircase 
were  guarded  by  a  couple  of  Burmese  gilded 
idols. 

Stevenson  gave  many  glimpses  of  his  life 
at  Vailima  in  his  letters  to  Mr.  Sidney  Colvin. 
The  following  extract  seems  typical :  "I  know 
pleasure  still ;  pleasure  with  a  thousand  faces 
and  none  perfect,  a  thousand  tongues  all 
broken,  a  thousand  hands  and  all  of  them 
with  scratching  nails.  High  among  these  I 
place  the  delight  of  weeding  out  here  alone  by 
the  garrulous  water,  under  the  silence  of  the 

[42] 


Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

high  wood,  broken  by  incongruous  sounds  of 
birds.  And  take  my  Hfe  all  through,  look  at 
it  fore  and  back  and  upside  down — though  I 
would  very  fain  change  myself — I  would  not 
change  my  circumstances." 

It  was  Stevenson's  great  delight  to  keep 
open  house  at  Vailima,  and  especially  to  or- 
ganise any  festivity  in  which  the  natives  could 
share.  An  example  of  this  hospitality  was 
the  entertainment  given  to  the  band  of  the 
Katoomhay  on  September  12th,  1893.  "I  got 
leave  from  Captain  Bickf ord  to  have  the  band 
of  the  Katoomha  come  up,  and  they  came, 
fourteen  of  'em,  with  drum,  fife,  cymbals  and 
bugles,  blue  jackets,  white  caps,  and  smiling 
faces.  The  house  was  all  decorated  with 
scented  greenery  above  and  below.  We  had 
not  only  our  nine  outdoor  workers,  but  a  con- 
tract party  that  we  took  on  in  charity  to 
pay  their  war-fine;  the  band  besides,  as  it 
came  up  the  mountain,  had  collected  a  follow- 
ing of  children  by  the  way,  and  we  had  a 

[43] 


Biographical  Note 

picking  of  Samoan  ladies  to  receive  them. 
They  played  to  us,  they  danced,  they  sang, 
they  tumbled." 

Stevenson's  influence  with  the  natives  was 
probably  as  great  as  that  of  any  white  resi- 
dent in  the  islands.  He  was  certainly  re- 
spected by  them  as  a  whole,  and  by  many  he 
was  beloved.  Indeed,  his  friendship  with 
Tembinoka,  the  King  of  Apemama,  whose 
character  is  described  in  "The  South  Seas," 
forms  an  important  episode  in  that  volume. 
"He  is  the  Napoleon  of  the  group,  poet, 
tyrant,  altogether  a  man  of  mark.  *I  got 
power,'  is  his  favourite  word;  it  interlards 
his  conversation."  Another  chief,  with  whom 
Stevenson  was  in  great  sympathy,  was  Ma- 
taafa,  the  "rebel"  king  who  was  defeated  and 
banished  in  August,  1893,  upon  outbreak 
of  war  in  the  island.  Mataafa  he  believed  to 
be  the  one  man  of  governing  capacity  among 
the  native  chiefs,  and  it  was  his  desire  that 
the    Powers    should    conciliate    rather    than 

[44] 


Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

crush  him.  "Mataafa  is  the  nearest  thing 
to  a  hero  in  my  history,  and  really  a  fine  fel- 
low ;  plenty  of  sense,  and  the  most  dignified, 
quiet,  gentle  manners." 

After  taking  up  liis  abode  at  Vailima, 
Stevenson  only  twice  returned  to  the  world  of 
populous  cities.  In  the  early  part  of  1893 
he  spent  several  weeks  in  Sydney,  where  he 
visited  his  friend,  the  Hon.  B.  R.  Wise.  In 
September  of  the  same  year  he  made  a  voyage 
to  Honolulu.  On  his  return  to  Apia  in  No- 
vember, he  was  gratified  by  the  mark  of 
esteem  and  gratitude  extended  to  him  by  the 
native  chiefs,  who  cleared,  dug,  and  com- 
pleted the  road  to  Vailima — till  then  a  mere 
track,  which  could  only  be  traversed  in  dry 
weather  by  wagons  or  by  a  buggy,  goods 
being  taken  to  the  house  by  two  New  Zealand 
pack-horses.  On  the  estate  itself  the  route 
lay  by  a  lane  of  limes,  and  this  was  cut  off  by 
the  Ala  Loto  Alofa,  or  "Road  of  the  Loving 
Heart,"  which  the  chiefs  cut  to  commemorate 

[45] 


Biographical  Note 

Stevenson's  kindness  to  them  during  their 
imprisonment  by  the  European  Powers. 
"Considering  the  great  love  of  Tusitala,  in 
his  loving  care  of  us  in  our  distress  in  the 
prison,  we  have  therefore  prepared  a  splendid 
gift.  It  shall  never  be  muddy,  it  shall  endure 
forever,  this  road  that  we  have  dug."  Upon 
its  completion  a  great  Kava  drinking  was 
held,  there  was  a  solemn  return  of  thanks,  and 
Stevenson  gave  an  address,  which  was  his  best 
and  most  outspoken  utterance  to  the  people 
of  Samoa. 

Only  two  months  later,  on  December  3d, 
1894,  Stevenson  died.  He  was  in  his  forty- 
fifth  year.  The  Union  Jack  which  flew  over 
the  house  was  hauled  down  and  placed  over 
the  body  as  it  lay  in  the  hall  where  he  had 
spent  some  of  the  most  delightful  hours  of  his 
life. 

"His  devoted  Samoans  cut  an  almost  per- 
pendicular pathway  to  the  top  of  the  moun- 
tain Vaea,  which  he  had  designed  as  his  last 

[46] 


•       »    •  *,•     •       • , 

•  •       *       •     •  > 


Robert  Louis  St'evcnsow    •••*•.!  •::.*••. 

resting-place.  Thither  with  almost  herculean 
labours  they  bore  him,  and  decked  his  grave 
with  costly  presents,  of  the  most  valuable  and 
highly  prized  mats.  There  he  lies,  by  a 
strange,  almost  ironic  fate,  under  other  stars 
than  ours.  Driven  forth,  not,  thank  God,  by 
neglect  nor  by  any  injustice  of  man,  but  by 
the  scourge  of  sickness  and  threat  of  death 
and  the  unfriendliness  of  his  native  skies,  into 
his  beautiful  exile  amid  tropic  seas,  he  draws, 
and  long  will  draw,  perhaps  while  the  lan- 
guage lasts,  with  a  strange  tenderness,  the 
hearts  of  men  to  that  far  and  lonely  Samoan 
mount." 

On  the  tombstone,  built  of  great  blocks  of 
cement,  are  carved  the  Scotch  thistle  and  the 
native  ante,  and  between  them  is  a  bronze 
plate  bearing  the  following  inscription,  his 
own  requiem: 

\    "Under  the  wide  and  starry  sky 
^V.    Dig  the  grave  and  let  me  die ; 
Glad  did  I  live  and  gladly  die, 

[47] 


Bio  graphical  Note 

And  I  laid  me  down  with  a  will. 
This  be  the  verse  you  grave  for  me — 
Here  he  lies  where  he  longed  to  be ; 
Home  is  the  sailor,  home  from  the  sea, 

And  the  hunter  home  from  the  hill." 


[48] 


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mH  291934 


APR  27  1934 


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